


your mission, should you choose to accept it

by rowenabane



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV, WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mission Impossible, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Con Artists, Gen, Heist, Platonic Relationships, Thievery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-06 19:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19069621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenabane/pseuds/rowenabane
Summary: A successful mission requires a good team: Kun has the best.





	your mission, should you choose to accept it

**Author's Note:**

> hello fellas! I started binge watching the old mission impossible series and this was the lengthy, chaotic result. just so you know, this is mostly a platonic au, so there's not a lot of shippy stuff!
> 
> hope you enjoy!

“Good morning,” Kun says to the lone woman at the check-in desk. It's a Monday morning at the National Art Museum of China, which means that the place is almost empty. The walls, which are plain white marble, sparkle in the sun. “I’d like an audio tour, please.”

The woman levels him with a calm, calculating gaze. "We're closed."

"I have a...special pass."

She nods. “And what are you here to see today?”

Kun takes a breath. “I'm quite interested in the works of Zhou Mingliang,” he says, smiling. “I'm a big fan of his ink paintings.”

The woman nods before bending down and grabbing a small tape player and a pair of headphones from beneath her desk. She hands these, along with a small flyer, to Kun and they part ways without another word.

Kun pulls on the headphones and clicks the red button on the audio player. He stares at a painting but instead of some calm tour guide's voice filtering through the headphones, there is a burst of static and then a man’s voice.

The voice on the tape welcomes him. “Hello, Qian Kun.”

Kun walks through the hall, eyes skimming over the larger than life paintings on the walls.

The voice continues.

“We at the IMF have received word that Beijing billionaire and tech CEO Zhang Yixing is currently in possession of a series of confidential government documents,” the voice says. “These documents range from plans for deadly nerve gas missiles to clandestine information on government officials. It is believed he has been conducting illegal surveillance and, at the highest transgression, treason.”

Kun pauses in front of a painting and opens the flyer. Inside is a small picture of Zhang Yixing, accompanied by a map and address. The letters IMF are printed in bold letters, and below that, the words _Impossible Missions Force_.

“The documents are housed in a private server at Zhang Industry Headquarters. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, will be to break into Zhang Headquarters to retrieve these sensitive documents and deliver them to the IMF.” The voice pauses. “You are allowed to choose your own team, but remember: in the event that any part of the mission is compromised, the IMF disavows any knowledge of your existence.”

Kun closes the flyer and shoves it in his pocket.

“As always, this message will self destruct in 15 seconds. Best of luck and welcome back, Kun.”

There is a click as the recording ends and then, 15 seconds later, a hiss as the internal components of the audio box dissolve. Kun slips off the headphones and dumps the entire thing into the trash. He breezes out the door, the sun bright behind him.

 

I.

 

“A job? Great. It’s been a while since I was employed.”

Kun sits at the head of the table in his dining room, six other men watching him. He glances at the man that just spoke, who gives him a rakish grin. His smile is a deadly weapon in and of itself.

**CHITTAPHON LEECHAIYAPORNKUL**

**CODE NAME: TEN**

**ROLE: HONEYPOT AGENT**

**SKILLS: ACTING, POLYGLOT, EXPERT GYMNAST, MASTER OF DISGUISE**

“Have you decided?” Kun asks the men. A folder lies in the middle of the table, innocuous if not for the information it contains.

“Of course,” a dark haired man at the end of the table says. His eyes are carefully blank but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It’s always a joy to work with you, Kun.”

**DONG SICHENG**

**CODE NAME: WINWIN**

**ROLE: TECH AGENT, DRONE EXPERT**

**SKILLS: HACKING, PROGRAMMING, GENERAL SNOBBERY**

“It’s only fun if I get to destroy things,” a younger man says. He looks younger than the others, more a boy than a man, but enthusiasm seeps into his face all the same. “But yeah. I’m in.” He nods and his curly hair bounces.

**LIU YANGYANG**

**CODE NAME: YANGYANG**

**ROLE: WEAPONS AND DEMOLITION EXPERT**

**SKILLS: WEAPON PROFICIENCY, SHARPSHOOTING, WILD CARD PERSONALITY**

The man sitting next to Yangyang shakes his head. He’s wearing a leather jacket, a silver earring looped through his ear, swinging with the motion. His face is earnest, open, honest, and no one would guess that it would be one of his greatest assets. “It sounds dangerous. I’ll help, of course, but you must know this is gonna be a rough mission. Zhang Yixing doesn't play games.”

Kun nods. “I know that.”

**WONG YUKHEI**

**CODE NAME: LUCAS**

**ROLE: EVERYMAN**

**SKILLS: GENERAL PROFICIENCY IN WEAPONS AND TECH, POLYGLOT, ABILITY TO BLEND IN**

“If Yukhei is in so am I,” a young man in a white school blazer says, twirling a pen in between his fingers. His feet are propped up on the table, his expression bored. “I’m on summer break, anyways. I have nothing _else_ to do.”

**WONG KUNHANG**

**CODE NAME: HENDERY**

**ROLE:  TECH AGENT, ENGINEERING EXPERT**

**SKILLS: PROGRAMMING, ENGINEERING, MATH; TOP OF HIS CLASS MIT ENGINEERING STUDENT**

“You have a very good team here,” the last young man says. He’s more reserved than the rest, with soft features and an even softer voice. “I don’t see why you need me, Mr. Qian.”

“I chose everyone here for a reason,” Kun says. “You included.”

The young man shrugs, looking at the table. “I guess I’m in, then.”

**XIAO DEJUN**

**CODE NAME: XIAOJUN**

**ROLE: FILM AND PHOTOGRAPHY EXPERT**

**SKILLS: PHOTOGRAPHY AND FILMOGRAPHY, ACTING, VOICE MIMICRY**

“So you’re all in,” Kun says. He opens the folder in front of him. “There will be risks,” he says, “but I know we can pull it off.”

He pulls a sheet of paper out of the folder.

“Now,” he says. “Here’s the plan.”

...

There’s going to be a charity ball at Zhang Industry headquarters in Beijing in two days time. It’s the best time to infiltrate: plenty of strangers in the building, people going in and out. But with that will be enhanced security and surveillance.

“The location of the servers isn’t listed in the plans for the building,” Kun says. “They’ll most likely be underground.”

“They _will_ be underground,” Kunhang interjects. “It’s the best place for them. That many servers need to be kept cool. I assume Zhang would also want the most security he can get. Being underground would be the best way to get both.”

Kun nods and draws something on his map. Sicheng pipes up from the other end of the room where he is lounging on a chair, looking at the ceiling. “The only way to access the data on the servers would be in person,” he says. “I can get it, but only if I’m on the scene. I need a way in, plenty of time, and a way out.”

“I can provide you with that,” Kun says.

“If Zhang is the genius he says he is there will be cooling systems in and around the server area,” Kunhang says. “It’ll be very cold. He’ll probably have some kind of infrared monitoring.”

“Sicheng will have to mask his body heat,” Ten says.

They talk a bit more, working through some of the finer points of their plan.

“We can work with that,” Kun says. “Does everyone know their missions?”

There is a chorus of nods and yeses, and so they get to work.

 

>> D-2 UNTIL MISSION LAUNCH

 

“Kun, darling, does this make me look fat?”

Kun shakes his head. “That knife is strapped so tight to your body even _you_ can’t see it.”

Ten shrugs. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

Ten is cycling through his considerable wardrobe of disguises while Kun pores over some of the trickier parts of their plan. He’s set up the basics and accounted for most of the more difficult tasks, but he can never be too sure. There are lives on the line, the lives of his team members, and Kun does not like to take chances.

Dejun comes through the door, camera around his neck. He’s carrying a tripod in one hand and a thick notebook in the other. He nods at Kun and Ten before vanishing into an adjacent room.

“That kid seems a bit young for this, don’t you think?”

Kun looks at Ten, who is combing through a wig. “He’s older than Yangyang, and the same age as Kunhang.”

“But certainly less experienced,” Ten argues. “What have you even assigned him to do?”

“Surveillance, video forgery, things like that.” Kun had assigned Dejun his mission separately from the rest, not out of secrecy or distrust of the others, but for flexibility. He hoped he wouldn’t have to rely on Dejun’s work, but if things went south...he might have to.

They both return to their work in silence.

…

“Man,” Kunhang says, looking at a man on the other side of the street. “You’re going to wear one of _those_?”

“It’s called a uniform,” Yukhei responds. He has a pair of binoculars trained on the restaurant across the street. It just _happens_ to be the restaurant that will be catering the Zhang charity ball. “I’ll need to fit in.”

“Yuck,” Kunhang grumbles.

“It’s literally just a shirt and pants.”

“An _ugly_ shirt.”

Yukhei shakes his head. He peers through the binoculars and notes the logo on the side of the boxes the restaurant uses to deliver food. Every worker seems to be wearing a tag on their shirt, probably with their names. Yukhei adjusts the binoculars to look at the driver of the van, a young guy wearing a baseball cap.

“Don’t worry about how I look,” Yukhei says. “Just worry about your job.”

“I can do more than one thing at once,” Kunhang says, bristling.

“Are you sure?” Yukhei jokes.

“Positive.”

...

“So, no explosives?”

Kun shakes his head. “There will be civilians in that building. We can’t risk unnecessary casualties.”

“Okay,” Yangyang says. “How about a machine gun?”

“What would you use it for?” Kun says. “We don’t need much firepower. This is supposed to be an in-and-out mission, as stealthy as possible.”

Yangyang looks enviously across the room, where Ten is inspecting handguns.

“Fine,” he says. “But I get to keep any weapon I want on me while I’m in the van.”

“Understandable. Have you picked a vehicle?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

 

>>  D-1 UNTIL MISSION LAUNCH

 

“I was able to get those photos you wanted,” Dejun says. “But I need your photo as well.”

“Very well,” Kun says.

“I’ll have to shoot them now,” Dejun adds.

Kun nods.

…

Ten stands in front of the mirror, then frowns and shakes his head. He removes the lace gloves running up his arms and turns exasperatedly to Sicheng.

“I need something that screams ‘rich lady who just murdered her second husband and is on the prowl for a new man’,” he says. “But nothing seems to work!”

Sicheng doesn’t even look up from his computer. “Try the black.”

Ten takes a good, hard look at the black dress hanging in front of him. “Why?”

“Looks deadly,” he says. He’s resorted to responding in short phrases to conserve brain space for whatever he’s doing with the black metal drone resting on the coffee table. It seems to be working - every few minutes the drone rises off the table and spins. Sometimes it even circles the room, Sicheng watching with keen eyes.

“You’re right,” Ten says, taking the dress off its hanger. “Thanks.”

Sicheng hums in response, and his drone lifts off the table.

…

“Oh god,” Yukhei groans. “Is _this_ the vehicle you picked?”

“Yes,” Yangyang says proudly, puffing his chest. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

The van in question was not what Yukhei would call a beauty. In fact, he would hesitate to call it a van.

“It’s certainly...eye-catching, for a surveillance van.”

“Don’t worry,” Yangyang says, smacking the dull purple paint. “This bad boy is _stealthy_.”

“It has ‘The Purple Party Bus’ painted on the side,” Yukhei says, disapproving.

“Yeah,” Kunhang says. “That was my idea.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Well,” Yangyang starts. “People are expecting a surveillance van to be black and suspicious. “No one is going to think the Purple Party Bus is a threat.”

“Yeah,” Kunhang says. “It’s completely logical.”

“Sure,” Yukhei says, resigned. “Whatever you say.”

…

The charity ball is an invitation-only event, a gathering of the most elite and wealthy people in and around Beijing. Kun has managed to procure two invitations from a sick friend, one who said he “hates rich people.” Ironic, really, but Kun doesn’t mind.

“One for you,” Kun says, handing an embellished piece of paper to Ten, “and one for me.”

“Fancy,” Ten says, holding the paper up to the lamplight. “Is there any type of list?”

“No,” Kun says. “The invitation is required, of course, but I don’t think they’ll ask for identification.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Ten says. He opens a binder filled with sheets of plastic, like the kind one would use to store trading cards, but instead of trading cards, it is filled with various identification cards. There must be at least a hundred different identities contained in the plastic, both male and female. Ten flips through the pages until he finds one he likes, pulling it out.

“Will you need one?” Ten asks.

“No,” Kun says. “I won’t.”

...

The seven of them sit in Kun’s living room, the sky darkening outside.

“There are three layers of security to the server room,” Kunhang says. He unravels a piece of paper with a crude map. “Card security, which requires a scan of an ID card, a thumbprint scan of that same user, and a retinal scan.” He points to something on his map. “The server room is big and contains security cameras and infrared sensors. Sicheng will have to mask most of his heat and stay close to the servers. I can do the rest. Dejun and I will loop the security footage in and around the server room.”

“Is there really only one way inside?” Yukhei asks.

“Yes,” Kunhang says. “There are a series of small vents along the floor, but they connect straight to coolant tanks. They aren’t accessible to us.”

Kun hums thoughtfully. “Very well. We’ll get Sicheng through the main door.”

“I still need to mask my body heat,” Sicheng adds.

Ten jumps up and runs into the other room. He returns with a black jumpsuit, flourishing it in front of Sicheng.

This should do the trick,” he says. “It’ll absorb your heat and mimic the surrounding temperature. There’s a mask, too.”

“Where did you get this?” Sicheng says, rubbing the material.

“I have a friend in Seoul who owes me a favor,” he says. “This was it.”

“Good,” Kun says. “Mission launch is tomorrow. Everyone knows their tasks. Sleep well tonight, guys - tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

 

>> D-DAY: MISSION LAUNCH

 

**0600 HOURS**

 

The charity ball starts at 8 pm, which gives them a four-hour window to get in and out with the files. Ten will arrive first to canvas the area and Kun will arrive thirty minutes later. Unlike Ten, Kun will not disguise himself. He will simply be Qian Kun, albeit an embellished version of himself.

But long before any of that happens, Yukhei has a job to do.

Yukhei adjusts the collar of his shirt and walks across the street to where a crowd of caterers and waitstaff are loading boxes off of trucks. He’s carrying his own box, of course, but it certainly doesn’t contain food. He sidles alongside the edge of the group.

“I hate these things,” one of the workers says in casual mandarin. “Just a bunch of rich people showing off how rich they are.”

“At least they pay us,” Yukhei says, schooling his accent to match that of the worker that just spoke.

“Not enough,” the man shoots back, grinning. His name tag reads _Jackson_. He squints at Yukhei’s name tag. “Lucas? It’s nice to meet you!”

Yukhei grins back. “Nice to meet you too! I’d shake your hand but…” he shrugs, looking at the box in his hands. Jackson laughs.

“At least I get to work with someone interesting tonight,” Jackson says. He seems friendly enough, but Yukhei remains detached. He’s on a mission.

“Say, are you from Hong Kong? Your accent is really familiar.”

Yukhei beams back and he is no longer Wong Yukhei, everyman. He is Lucas, friendly restaurant worker from Hong Kong.

“Yeah!” he says, feigning surprise. “How did you guess?”

 

**0800 HOURS**

 

Dejun pulls off his hoodie and draws his phone out of his pocket. To the untrained eye, he simply looks like a college kid going on a morning run. His earbuds dangle from his ears and he presses buttons on his phone.

To the trained eye, however, one would notice that this young person isn’t just checking social media. Dejun angles the screen of the phone upwards, discreetly tilting it to view the security cameras. He’s not listening to music - instead, Kunhang’s voice filters through.

_“How many on the outside?”_

“Eleven,” Dejun murmurs. “One on each corner, plus one trained on the entrance. There are several in the surrounding area as well.”

_“I can work with that,”_ Kunhang says. Dejun can hear typing. “ _What else?”_

“This place is big,” Dejun murmurs. “How big will the server room be?”

_“Bigger than this building, that’s for sure. It probably extends from directly below the building to the surrounding area.”_

Zhang Industry Headquarters isn’t just big - it’s _huge._ It looks like a cross between a skyscraper and an art installation, all slanted geometric glass panes and reflective metal. Workers mill about on the generous lawn area, each of them wearing an ID card on a lanyard around their neck. Dejun averts his eyes, continuing to jog.

“Is Yukhei in yet?” he asks.

_“Haven’t heard anything from him yet,”_ Kunhang says. _“But he’s probably assimilating now. Give him an extra hour to set his location.”_

Dejun turns around the block.

“How are we getting Sicheng in?” Dejun asks. He sees trucks near the back of the building.

_“Let Yukhei figure that out. Once he’s in position we’ll know for sure.”_

“Alright,” Dejun says. “I’ll see you in a few.” He turns off his phone and turns off the street, heading back to Kun.

...

Their base is currently a hotel room right in the middle of Beijing, three stories off the ground. It has large glass windows that are heavily tinted to prevent wandering eyes. Kun looks out at the morning bustle of the city.

“So, genius,” Ten says from the bathroom. His voice echoes through the walls. “How are things going?”

“Yukhei has moved into position,” Kun says. “Dejun and Kunhang are checking outer and inner surveillance. Sicheng and Yangyang are prepping.”

“Good,” Ten says. He comes out of the bathroom wearing a black, shoulder length wig. It suits him, in a strange way. “And you?”

“What about me?” Kun asks.

“Kun, I’ve known you for five years, dated you for two of those, and was embittered over your existence for exactly one. I know you,” Ten says. “And I know that look. You’re nervous.”

“We’ve done missions all over the world,” Kun says. “Cuba, Vietnam, America. But this one just feels...too close. We live here. What if something goes wrong?”

“I trust you,” Ten says. “I have always trusted you. Do you have a plan?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll all be fine.”

 

**1000 HOURS**

 

Yukhei carries a box full of silverware into Zhang Headquarters. It’s bafflingly easy for him to get in - the guard sees his uniform and simply waves him through. He doesn’t even check Yukhei’s box, which is good, because Yukhei is _definitely_ carrying more than silverware.

Yukhei diverges from the rest of the workers and brings his back to an empty storeroom. He opens it and moves a precariously placed stack of knives to reveal a small black box.

The box, which contains several small wires, is harmless. Yukhei removes the wires and puts them in the pockets of his uniform, then places the box in a far corner of the storeroom. He doesn’t need it anymore.

He grabs his original box, the one with the silverware, and walks out.

“Hey,” he says, faking confusion. “Where do I put these again?”

…

There are security cameras every few feet, and that makes Yukhei’s job several times easier. He takes a bathroom break and walks down the hall, counting the cameras. He finds one that isn’t facing him and reaches up, wrapping one of his wires around the base. He waits a minute and then watches as the camera turns to him. It dips down and then up, almost as if it is nodding. Yukhei waves.

Good. That means Kunhang’s in.

He has three wires left, which all have to go on separate cameras. Once they’re wound around the base Kunhang can control the camera, and once all three are positioned Kunhang will gain full access to the surveillance system. The wires are thin, with small microfilaments running up and down their length.

Yukhei makes quick work of the other cameras, walking down three different hallways to give Kunhang a greater spread. Each camera responds to him, either by “nodding” or simply pointing its lens at him.

Yukhei rubs his hands together and heads back before the other catering workers begin to wonder where he is.

…

Kunhang whoops and punches the air. “Yukhei got me into the camera system! I have eyes.”

“Good,” Sicheng says. “What do you see?”

“Empty halls,” Kunhang says. “Give me a few minutes to work myself into the rest of the system. Then I can give you a look at the server doors.”

Sicheng nods, looking down at the screen nestled in his lap. He’s running his own kind of surveillance: at this very moment, a tiny drone is photographing all the entrances and exits of the Zhang building. The drone is small, no bigger than a bumblebee, but the pictures are crystal clear.

“Here,” Kunhang says, swiveling his computer screen so it faces Sicheng.

“Interesting.”

**1300 HOURS**

 

_“I’m in position for later tonight. Leave Sicheng in the back near the truck with the bright blue logo at 2200 hours. I’ll meet him there.”_

“Okay,” Kunhang says. Sicheng nods at him.

“You better stretch or something,” Yangyang says, hands folded behind his head. “Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle or something.”

“Ha ha,” Sicheng deadpans. “Be careful or I’ll pull _your_ muscles.”

Yangyang doesn’t look scared but then again, Yangyang rarely exhibits the sense that most human beings possess. 

“Yangyang is right. That box is pretty small.” 

“Don’t remind me.”

**1900 HOURS**

 

“Look alive, love,” Ten says, pulling on a set of silken gloves. “It’s almost show time.”

“You are definitely more excited about this then I am,” Kun says, adjusting his tie. Ten rolls his eyes.

“Of course I am,” Ten says, flicking his hair over his shoulder. “This is the most fun I’ve had since the Spain mission.”

“Please don’t mention the Spain mission,” Kun groans. “That was a nightmare.”

“Maybe for you,” Ten says, grabbing his skirt like a Flamenco dancer. “Olé!”

“I could never match your enthusiasm,” Kun says, shaking his head. He adjusts his tie, his reflection staring back at him pensively.

There’s a click against the floor as Ten pulls on a pair of heels, his disguise mostly complete. He doesn’t even look like Ten anymore: the person standing in front of Kun is a young woman, thin and smiling, dark hair falling to her shoulders in waves. Ten gives an experimental twirl of his flowing skirt and smiles, batting his fake eyelashes.

“You’ve done it again,” Kun says jokingly. “Made me trust you even less.”

“Would you like to dress up as a woman to dupe men? Please, be my guest.”

Kun shakes his head fervently. That’s one task he will gladly leave to the experts.

 

**2000 HOURS**

 

Ten pulls up to Zhang Industries in a sleek borrowed sports car, stepping a delicate heel out of the car and surveying the area. He’s not early, not really, but he is still among some of the first to arrive. He flashes his embossed invitation to the man at the door, accompanying it with a winning smile and he is able to pass through. He counts the number of guards at the door, wandering around the perimeter of the building and lining the walls inside.

This is Ten’s main prerogative: find an employee of Zhang Industries, one that has access to the server room, and subsequently obtain his ID card, fingerprint, and retinal scan. The card and fingerprint will be easy enough to get, but Ten is still circling through ways to get the last item on their list of “things that are very important to gain access into the server room.”

He looks across the room, slipping into the persona he’s created. Li Yanmei, a bored young daughter of a rich businessman, is searching the crowd for a suitable companion for the night. Ten squares his shoulders back, grabs a glass of champagne off of a waiter’s tray, and goes to work.

...

Yukhei slips off his striped shirt and flips it inside out, revealing the plain white inside. He puts it back on and slips a bowtie beneath the collar, running a hand through his hair to smooth it back. He grabs a tray of small crackers and cheese and waltzes out the door, just another server in the crowd. He’s not worried about anyone asking him what he’s doing - Jackson has been mysteriously sent back to the catering building after a phone call from a very convincing Dejun.

The change of character comes as easily as breathing. This is Yukhei’s specialty: blending in.

Ten dazzles and awes with his costumes and makeup and acting but Yukhei has found he doesn't need that flair. They are two sides of the same coin, Ten and him, and the difference is that Yukhei is not meant to be seen.

Yukhei has played many roles: a doctor, a tattoo artist, a writer in a cafe. A stranger. A student. A friend.

This is Yukhei’s gift: invisibility. He makes it so no one looks at him twice, not without reason. And even though Yukhei is tall, his features friendly and wide, no one seems to remember his face in the crowd.

They call him the everyman because that is who he is. Every man and no man at once.

Yukhei slides by Ten, who is surveying the crowd with deceptively bored eyes. He looks stunning, and Yukhei has to admit even he does a double take. He moves away from Ten and strides purposefully across the room, stopping every so often to offer a refreshment or help some lost socialite.

He keeps watch. They still have four hours to go.

…

“Barney the Purple Vanosoaur,” Dejun says, face serious.

“That’s an awful name for the van,” Yangyang replies. “I think we should call it Vhanos.”

“Vhanos?”

“Yeah,” Yangyang explains. “Van Thanos.”

“Shut up,” Sicheng groans. _“Please.”_

“I vote we retain the van’s original name as the Purple Party Bus,” Kunhang says, “since it is purple and implies that we are having a party.” He fiddles with the knob on the comms box. “You all know I’m correct.”

“We are not having a party,” Sicheng says, his computer open on his lap. His drones have been retired for the evening: too conspicuous in such a setting.

“It’s about perspective,” Yangyang says wisely. “Anything is a part if you believe it is.”

Kunhang watches the surveillance videos. “Look,” he says. “I can see Ten.”

“He’s located his target,” Yangyang says, rubbing his hands together. “Nice!”

The four of them watch the screen, faces reflecting the blue glow of the screen.

…

Ten moves aimlessly, lazily, but with a purpose. The tall man standing in front of him has no clue he’s there until after Ten has slipped his ID card out of his pocket and up his sleeve. Ten bumps into him a little, giving a surprised gasp. The tall man turns around, surprised.

“Oh, hi,” he says, flustered. “I didn’t see you there.”

Ten gives a gracious little laugh, resting his hand lightly on the man’s arm. “Sorry, I’m just _so_ clumsy.”

_“Johnny Seo,”_ Kunhang whispers in his ear. _“Head of Computational Research. American. Born in 1995.”_

“So, uh,” Johnny fumbles for words. “What’s your name?”

“Li Yanmei,” Ten says sweetly in mandarin, letting sugar coat his words. Mr. Seo’s mandarin is passable, but it is obvious it is not his native language. “And you?”

“I’m Johnny,” he says. “I work here.”

“Really?” Ten gives a little giggle.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he stammers, going red. “That’s why I’m here.”

“You have an accent,” Ten points out. “Are you from Beijing?”

“Oh, no,” Johnny says. “I was born in American and I lived in Korea for a few years before moving here.”

“Wow,” Ten says in English. “So you speak English?”

Johnny’s eyes widen in unfiltered joy, and Ten almost feels bad. “Are you from America too?”

“No,” Ten says, maintaining his accent. “I studied there for several years, though.”

A lie: Ten has been to America only once, on a mission. He learned English in Thailand and is only truly Chinese by ethnicity.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Johnny continues in English. “It’s really great to speak to someone in English. It’s … been a while.”

Ten’s giggles again, and the fake persona he has drawn around himself is as real as his own.

“So,” Ten says, grabbing a glass of champagne off a tray held by a knowing and inconspicuous Yukhei. He swirls it idly before handing it to Johnny, who accepts it with unsteady fingers. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

**2200 HOURS**

 

At exactly 2200 hours Yangyang and Sicheng hop out of the back of the Purple Party Bus, Yangyang carrying a folded cardboard box in his arms.

The van Yukhei told them to meet him by is easy enough to spot - it has the bright blue logo of the catering service Yukhei has infiltrated. The driver of the truck is nowhere to be seen.

Yangyang unfolds the box and Yukhei walks out the back door, figure framed by the inside light. He nods and Sicheng steps inside the box, legs folding gracefully beneath him as he gets on his back.

“This is a tight fit,” Sicheng mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. Yangyang shrugs.

“I told you so,” he says. “Can you breathe all right?”

Sicheng slips on his mask and nods.

Yukhei and Yangyang look at each other and Yangyang seals the top of the box with tape, discouraging its accidental opening. Yukhei lifts the box, now with Sicheng in it, and turns to go back inside.

Yangyang simply vanishes into the night behind him, heading back to the van.

…

Yukhei leaves the box in the storeroom and unseals it, heading back out while Sicheng gets himself together. He works the event room, weaving in between the crowd with either a plate of refreshments or champagne. He keeps Ten in the corner of his vision, sometimes passing by him. He also tracks Zhang Yixing across the room, working the rotations of his movements like a clock in his head.

The charity ball progresses as it should. There’s music, and speeches, and even a rousing statement from Zhang Yixing himself on the importance of supporting today’s youth. He seems genuine, but where Zhang is involved nothing is as it seems.

Yukhei swings by Ten, who is doing his best to charm the young American. Johnny Seo looks more stressed than charmed, though, and Ten deftly removes a glass of champagne from his hand and places it on Yukhei’s passing tray.

Fingerprint: obtained. Yukhei heads into the back room, passing the other servers.

_“This guy is as dense as a brick,”_ Ten hisses over the comms to Yukhei. _“I’ve tried everything short of putting him in a headlock and he still won’t come with me.”_

“Did you ever consider that the reason you're seduction game isn’t working is because maybe he isn’t attracted to women?” Yukhei looks at the glass Ten passed him, a single fingerprint on the bowl. Yukhei holds it gingerly by the base, transferring the single fingerprint to a piece of tape and then to paper. He puts the paper in his pocket, tucking the glass beneath a shelf in the storeroom where it won’t be noticed.

_“Yes,”_ Ten huffs. _“But I’ve already committed to this role! What am I supposed to do, pull off my wig in the middle of the room?”_

“Try something else then,” Yukhei, grabbing a tray of small sandwiches from the kitchen. “Maybe talk about your hobbies?”

“ _Fuck you,_ ” Ten says. _“I’ll just knock him out._ ”

…

“You’re very interesting,” Ten says batting his eyelashes and leaning forward. It’s a complete lie - Johnny is as bland as a brick.

“Thanks,” he says. “You too.”

“Hey, would you mind coming with me? I want to show you something.”

“Oh, uh,” Johnny turns red. “It isn’t anything inappropriate, is it?”

“No,” Ten says. “My friend has some cool, uh, tech stuff. I thought you might be interested.”

“Oh. Okay!”

Ten wants to punch something. All his work and that is what it takes? He might as well resign forever.

They walk out of the room and turn down the hallway. Ten sees Yukhei and nods at him, the action slow. Ten turns to Johnny.

“Would you like to kiss me?” Ten says, leaning forward. Johnny blanches, waving his hands.

“No!” He says frantically. “I respect you too much as a colleague!”

“Good answer,” Ten says dryly. He punches the other man square in the jaw, and he’s out before he hits the ground.

“Well, that was a crushing blow to my self-esteem,” Ten mutters, hauling Johnny's gargantuan frame over his slim shoulders. “Meet me at the server room doors in five minutes.”

…

“God, he’s heavy,” Ten groans.

“To you, maybe,” Yukhei says, scanning Johnny’s card at the server door. The fingerprint pad lights up and Yukhei pulls the paper with Johnny’s fingerprint out of his pocket. He frowns.

“It's a gel pad.”

“Good thing I lugged this unlucky bastard along,” Ten huffs, pressing Johnny’s thumb into the sensor. It glows green.

An unconscious man’s fingerprint is the same as a conscious man’s fingerprint, given that it is from the same person. A retina should also follow the same principles, except when it doesn’t.

“Why is he so heavy,” Ten grumbles, lifting Johnny’s lolling head to the scanner. He pries his eyelid open with his fingers and watches as the blue light washes over it. Once. Twice. Three times.

“It’s not working,” Ten says.

_“He needs to blink,”_ Kunhang says. _“Make him blink.”_

“This would be a lot easier if you could hold him upright for me,” Ten says, glaring at Sicheng and Yukhei.

“It looks like you’ve got it covered,” Sicheng says, a black bag slung across his chest. He comes over to help anyway, grabbing him beneath the arms and propping him up so Ten can push his eyelids together in some semblance of a blink. It works, and the light on the retina display flashes green.

“Nice,” Ten says. There’s a buzz and Sicheng opens the door, the heavy steel frame swinging open easily on silent hinges. A rush of cool air hits them both.

“I’ll see you in 30 minutes,” Sicheng says.

_“Your comms will be dead in the server room,”_ Kunhang says. _“Pay attention to the time.”_

“I will,” Sicheng says. He waves at Ten and Yukhei and then steps into the server room, the door swinging shut behind him with a pressurized hiss of air.

Ten stands there for a moment in the empty hallway, then nudges Johnny’s limp body with his toe.

“What am I supposed to do with him now?” he says glumly. Yukhei shrugs.

 

**2400 HOURS**

 

Sicheng can see his breath mist in the frosty air, blowing like smoke from a cigarette. The only warmth in the room comes from the servers, which radiate heat. The stone walls, in contrast, are freezing to the touch. Sicheng avoids them.

The coat and mask Ten gave him block his body heat from showing up on the infrared sensors, but his breath is uncomfortably warm against his face. His fingers are almost frozen through his gloves.

There’s a main console in the center of the room that serves as an inventory of files. Sicheng stretches his stiff fingers and begins to type, poring through dense lines of code. He finds what he’s looking for and heads off between the servers, which look like small black monoliths dotted with lights.

He cracks open the panel on the server he’s looking for, connecting his computer to a trailing wire. He plugs a flash drive into his computer and initiates the file download.

Sicheng looks at his watch. The air is cold and hard to breathe in. He glances at his computer screen.

30 minutes. That’s all he needs.

...

Kunhang watches Sicheng on the screen. He’s rerouted the CCTV footage to loop an empty room while he gets the true feed. He can mask Sicheng’s diminished body heat easily enough, since the servers give off their own heat. He watches as Sicheng plugs his computer into a server and begins to download files.

So far, so good.

Kunhang looks over at Yangyang and Dejun, who are currently glued to the motion on the surveillance screens. Yangyang is currently receiving the feed from the main room, where most of the guests currently are. There’s no audio but he can make out Ten’s wispy form and, across the room, Kun’s watchful gaze.

Dejun looks at him. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Kunhang frowns at Sicheng’s crouching form, grainy on the camera. Swirls of coolant vapor curl around his ankles, covering the floor in white. He has to admit that he feels he overlooked something, something important, but he doesn’t know what. Three layers of entry security, infrared sensors and cameras inside the server room, and what else? The walls are solid rock, save for the minuscule vents designed to keep the room cool. Nothing could get in or out of those vents: Kunhang checked.

Yangyang pipes up from the driver’s seat of the van, where he’s eating a bowl of noodles. “Dejun’s right. It feels too easy. Isn’t this Zhang guy supposed to be a genius or something?”

Kunhang looks at the screen. He hopes, no, _prays_ he hasn’t miscalculated.

...

Knocking Johnny out was the easy part. Now he has to hide him.

But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that now his favorite dress is torn, which sucks.

He’s heading back to the main room where the other guests are when two guards stop him. They look angry, which is hardly ever a good sign.

“What are you doing back here?” the one guard says roughly.

“Oh,” Ten says. “I was looking for the bathroom and got lost. Can you help me find it?” He bats his fake eyelashes for extra effect, but the guard doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“You’ll have to come with us,” he says, grabbing Ten’s arm. Ten tenses but schools his features into baffled feminine misunderstanding.

“Oh, but I really need to use the restroom,” he says. “You don’t mind, do you?”

The guard yanks his arm and Ten sees that he can’t charm his way out of this one. He lets out a yelp and grabs his ankle, tripping

“Sorry boys,” he says sheepishly. “I think I twisted my foot.” He grabs the back of his heel, fingers sliding around the knife handle set against his ankle. “Give me a second, won’t you?”

The guard steps back and Ten straightens, smiling. The guard grabs his arm again and Ten slashes at his knuckles with the knife. The guard hisses, bouncing back as Ten slashes forward. The two guards fall into each other and Ten takes the opportunity to race down the hall. He passes two bathrooms, a men’s and a women’s, and ducks into the men’s bathroom.

It’s a race against time: Ten pulls off his wig and wipes the makeup from his face with a wipe stored in his dress. He shoves both of these in the trash and ducks into a stall, pulling off his dress and turning it inside out. He tucks the excess fabric inside and pulls it over his shoulders. For all intents and purposes, it looks like a very fancy sweater.

The dress was floor length so all Ten has to do is roll down his suit pants. He pulls the heels off of his shoes, effectively transforming them into flats. He pulls the bottom of the shoe out and slips it over the foot, giving the former stiletto the appearance of a loafer.

Ten shoves everything deep into the trash, flushes the toilet, and then walks out of the stall. He arranges his hair a little in the mirror and the two guards from before burst into the bathroom, breathing heavily. Gone is Li Yanmei, and in her place is Li Yongqin.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir,” the first guard says. Ten gives him an annoyed look. “Did you happen to see a woman come in here?”

“No,” Ten says, drying his hands. “Why would a woman be in the men’s bathroom, anyway?"

The guard tips his head. “Sorry, sir.” They leave just as fast as they came, hurrying out of the room.

Ten smirks in the mirror.

...

_“They almost apprehended me,_ ” Ten says through Kun’s comms. “ _They’re probably moving to high alert as we speak. There isn’t much time.”_

Kun sips from his glass of champagne and checks the locations of the guards. Some are listening intently to their walkie talkies, others talking with serious expressions.

“You’re right,” Kun murmurs into his drink. “Winwin needs to get out of there soon. His thirty minutes are almost up.”

The guards move down from the stairs onto the main floor, positioning themselves at the exits. Kun narrows his eyes.

“Hendery,” Kun whispers. “Is there any way to notify Winwin?”

_“His comms are dead while he’s in the server room. I can’t contact him.”_

“Well you need to,” Kun says, watching a guard explain to a woman and her husband that they can’t leave due to a security breach.

_“I'll do my best,_ ” Hendery says. His comm goes silent.

Kun sips his drink, moving across the room. He counts the exits, and the guards at each exit, but fails to pay attention and bumps into someone.

“I’m sorry,” Kun says, embarrassed. The someone in question turns to him.

“Oh, my apologies,” Zhang Yixing says. “I was in your way.” He smiles.

“Mr. Zhang?” Kun says, smiling respectfully. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“You as well, Mr...?”

“Qian,” Kun says with a smile, extending his hand. “Qian Kun.”

...

Sicheng checks his watch. The file download is almost complete, and already the original files are being wiped from the server. He breathes into his palm, trying to regain feeling in his fingers. The cold seeps into his bones, effusing him with a sense of exhaustion. Sicheng fights to keep his eyes open. Why is he so tired?

There is a small beep and a whirr from his computer as the files complete their journey from the server to Sicheng’s flash drive. He opens them up on his computer and his eyes widen.

When he was told there were clandestine documents on Zhang's server he expected maybe a couple of documents, a reasonable folder of information. What he did not expect was over 600 pages of information on government officials across the world. There’s enough in these files to start a war, if Zhang were inclined to do so.

Sicheng removes the flash drive and pockets it, slamming his computer shut. He checks his watch and stands. He has five minutes until Yangyang’s exit plan activates. He takes a step forward and the ground seems to sway beneath his feet. He presses a frozen hand to his forehead - why does it seem colder than before?

…

Kunhang chews nervously on a pen as he watches the surveillance screen. The hammering of his heart makes his chest seem like a construction zone and he thinks very, very carefully.

Three layers of entry security, two layers of interior security. What else?

He thinks of the security footage he was looking at earlier, of the workers in the server room. All in white coats and masks, carrying clipboards and checking the servers. Shifts of 45 minutes, breaks of fifteen.

Kunhang massages his eyes with the back of his hands. Maybe he’s just being paranoid.

He opens up the footage from earlier, watching the workers mill about the servers. It is obviously very cold, and tendrils of white coolant vapor circle the floor.

“Why are they wearing gas masks?” Dejun asks, leaning over Kunhang’s shoulder. “Aren’t they just working with computers?”

Kunhang looks at Dejun, then at the screen. Realization dawns on him like a sunrise, and he can feel his limbs go almost cold. He had assumed the masks were for sanitation reasons, but now his hunch doesn’t make sense.

He practically punches the comms box, hands shaking. “There’s gas!” he yells into the comms, and Dejun and Yangyang’s eyes go wide. “There’s some type of gas in the server room! And Winwin is _still in there!”_

_…_

Gas?

Ten picks up speed. Two lefts, a right, down the stairs.

“What type of gas?” Ten asks. “Do you know?”

_“No,_ ” Kunhang says. “ _But there must be something. All the workers in the security footage were wearing filtration masks. Gas must be pumped in with the coolant as a security measure.”_

“Ah, shit,” Ten hisses. The server room door is closed and there are guards right around the corner. He presses himself flat against the wall, fingers fanning over the stone. “Yangyang! Activate the exit plan!”

There’s a bang from somewhere in the building, then another, and the hallway fills with smoke. Ten ducks to the floor as the smoke surrounds him, and the guards run right past. He races to the server room doors, beating them with his fists.

“Winwin!” he shouts. He cannot open the door from the outside. “Get out of there!”

…

Sicheng tries to regain his balance but it almost feels as if he is slipping. He takes an unsteady step forward and his knees give out from beneath him without warning. He can’t breathe properly, can’t seem to _breathe_ at all. He pulls his mask off and cold air swarms into his lungs. It’s almost agonizing but he gulps down air, lungs aching. He watches white coolant vapor spread across the floor like a fog.

His chest heaves as he tries to stand again but he is suddenly so tired, so unbelievably tired, and he can feel his strength leave him like water leaves a sieve. He slips again, clinging to the black servers next to him.

_What the hell?_

The stone floor bites into his hands and Sicheng raises his head to look at the small vents in the wall. He can see them spew vapor, and it suddenly hits him that coolant isn’t the only thing in the air.

“Sleeping gas,” he murmurs, lips clumsy. His mouth feels like it is full of cotton, and his limbs have a heaviness that wasn’t there before.

He pushes himself up on shaking limbs and stumbles towards the door. His mask wasn't the right kind to filter out gas - it was meant to be breathable and warm, not gas proof. He’s been inhaling the stuff for almost thirty minutes and now he’s finally feeling himself shut down. It’s a terrifying experience and normally Sicheng would be terrified, heart pumping, but lethargy has washed over him like water.

His legs give out beneath him and he falls to the floor. He doesn’t hear Ten calling his name.

…

“Winwin!” Ten yells, hitting the door. “Get out!”

There’s no response and Ten pulls his handgun out from where it was strapped against his stomach. He empties his bullets into the handle of the door and kicks it with his foot but still it does not budge, the metal set flush against the stone.

_“He’s collapsed,”_ Kunhang says, voice strained. _“He can't respond.”_

Ten pulls at the door and hears a yell from behind him. Guards rush towards him, guns raised, and Ten takes off in the opposite direction.

“How are we going to get him out then?” Ten hisses. He shoves the door to the stairwell open and bolts up the stairs, the sound of angry shouts following him upwards.

“We can't,” Kunhang says. “People are already being evacuated. It's only a matter of minutes before they discover Yangyang’s smoke bombs.”

“Well, shit.”

…

This is how the plan was supposed to go: they get Sicheng in, give him thirty minutes, then detonate the smoke bombs and blend in with everyone else as the building is evacuated.

Kun watches Zhang Yixing with careful eyes as chaos descends upon his comms.

“Qian Kun?” Yixing says. “Where are you from?”

“I recently moved to Beijing,” he says, feigning nonchalance as Ten and Kunhang scream in his ear. “I’ve been living in Korea these past few years.”

“Ah, that’s nice,” Yixing says. He doesn’t seem to feel anything is out of the ordinary. “What brings you here?”

“Business,” Kun says. He smiles.

Yangyang’s first smoke bomb goes off with a loud yet harmless bang. The fire alarms sound and guards run up to the two of them.

“Sir,” one says. “There’s been a security breach.”

“Excuse me, will you?” Yixing smiles tersely at Kun before sliding away. Kun watches him vanish down a corridor, footsteps unhurried. He turns his attention to the doors, where guards are already directing guests outside. Yangyang’s second smoke bomb goes off, all bang and no flame, and a woman screams. Kun lets himself be caught up in the flow of people and he effectively vanishes with the crowd.

…

Yukhei watches as everyone streams outside and trails behind the crowd. He snatches a neglected suit jacket off the back of a chair and slips it on, combing his hair back with his hand. He looks like a guest, like he belongs here, and that is what he needs. The guards don’t even give him a second glance as he hurries out the door. He catches sight of Kun and walks right past him, bumping his arm as he passes him. Kun doesn’t look at him, but the message is clear: they are leaving _now._

The pitch black night hides Yukhei as he walks toward the street, ducking away from the crowd. He can see the Purple Party Bus in the distance and as he rounds the corner he pulls off the suit jacket and his button up shirt, rolling them up into a ball and throwing them in a trash can. He’s wearing a dark shirt with some band logo underneath, so he now looks like a random student instead of a wealthy elite.

He knocks three times on the side of the Purple Party Bus and the back doors swing open. He hops inside and pulls them shut.

Yangyang nods at him, mouth set in a grim line, while Kunhang and Dejun stare at the surveillance videos. Yukhei can see a limp Sicheng being dragged away by guards, and he grinds his teeth.

“We couldn’t extract him,” Yangyang says.

Kunhang leans forward to the comms box, voice a hush.

“They’ve got Winwin,” Kunhang says breathlessly through the comms. “And Winwin’s got the documents.”

…

_“They’ve got Winwin,”_ Kunhang says, and Kun tenses. _“And Winwin’s got the documents.”_

Ten stands behind Kun, facing in the opposite direction. Kun can hear his ragged breathing and sees out of the corner of his eye that Ten’s sleeve is torn. He curses softly, but Kun doesn’t even bat an eye. Like all good plans, this one had a backup.

Kun cracks his knuckles, watching firefighters pull up to Zhang Headquarters. Streetlights flicker across the lawn, stars twinkling in the sky above them.

“Let's proceed with Plan Two,” he murmurs. “Let’s get our man.”

 

II.

 >> DAY ONE, POST MISSION

 

**1100 HOURS**

 

“So what’s your favorite color?” Sicheng asks the guard in front of him. “Mine’s blue but I could make a case for orange, which is funny because orange is exactly opposite blue on the color wheel.”

The guard stares at him.

“Cut me a break,” Sicheng says cheerfully. “I’m really bad at this interpersonal stuff, I mean, I actually have very few friends. It sucks because I would _like_ to have more friends but no one wants to _be_ my friend. It’s probably my mother’s fault, see, she abandoned me at age 10-”

“Shut him up,” the other guard in the room growls.

“The boss wants him _conscious_ and _unharmed,_ ” the guard standing in front of Sicheng snarls. “Which means we have to listen to him run his mouth.”

“It’s really nice that you guys are spending so much time with me,” Sicheng says, smiling wide. “I think we’ll be good friends by the time this is over. I hope we’ll be good friends. See, my birthday is coming up in a few weeks and it would be nice to have some people over-”

The guard standing behind him presses a gun to the back of his head. “Shut up.”

Sicheng shuts up.

He casts an eye around him. He woke up about a half hour ago with an intense headache and sense of grogginess, but now that he’s regained his senses he can see he’s in a small room with concrete walls, no windows. One door, made of steel. A light is screwed into the ceiling, inset so no prying hands can get at the wiring. Shame. Sicheng is good with wires.

He looks at the guard in front of him and smiles. He’s going for brilliant, maybe even _winning,_ but he’s sure he looks like a lunatic. In all honesty, he _did_ say he was bad at this. The entire act is a little trick he learned, surprisingly, from Yangyang - the more you talk, the less people care about what you say.

The guard looks just about fed up with him and his stupid grinning and Sicheng is weighing the consequence of getting shot in the head with the satisfaction of insulting him when the door swings open. The guards swivel to attention and in steps Zhang Yixing, in all his rich pretentious glory. Two other guards accompany him, both toting big, nasty-looking guns.

Sicheng plasters a starstruck grin on his face. “Mr. Zhang! Wow! It’s an honor to finally meet you, sir!”

Zhang gives him a look that borders on disgusted. He motions with his finger and his guards point all their guns at him. Sicheng is flattered by all the attention, really, but it's not like he’s going to explode.

Well, not physically.

“So you’re the rat that’s been crawling through my servers,” Zhang says. “Interesting.”

Sicheng bristles at the metaphor but stems his annoyance. “Oh, well you have very nice servers! Very clean. Sparkly.” He infuses the words with enthusiasm, as if he’s Zhang’s biggest fan and not the guy that just tried to steal from him.

The guard standing behind him hands Zhang a black flash drive. Sicheng recognizes it, of course: it’s his. And it has all those documents that Sicheng tried to steal _still on it._

“We found this on his person,” the guard says gruffly.

Zhang takes it and looks it over. He frowns at Sicheng.

“Now tell me,” he says. “Who are you working for?”

Sicheng gives him a friendly, exasperated look. “I don’t work for anyone,” he says. “I mean, to work for someone you would have to be employed which I am currently not. Unless you count being a convenience store clerk but really that’s more of a part-time gig-”

“You must work for someone,” Zhang says. “What other reason would you have to be stealing files off my servers?”

“Well, just for fun,” Sicheng says, grinning. “I love a good challenge, keeps me on my toes and all that. I mean, I used to do chess but that got boring after a while.”

Zhang gives a disbelieving half-laugh. “What’s your name?”

“Winwin.” Sicheng’s no fool - to give away his real name would be suicide.

“Winwin? That’s a peculiar name.”

“Well, you’d have to take it up with my mom, see, she left me when I was a kid and I never got the chance to ask her about it.”

“How did you get in?”

“Well your guards made a very compelling case, what with all those guns.”

“Not in here,” Zhang sneers. “I mean in the server room.”

“Easy,” Sicheng says. “I just went in.”

Zhang scowls. “Impossible. I have one of the best security systems in the world. You can’t have just _walked in._ ”

“Well, I did. I think I took a wrong turn somewhere. Maybe you should have better security. More guards, maybe?” He grins again and can see Zhang grind his teeth. He stares at him, calculating, then turns to the guard on his left.

“Find his associates. He can’t have gotten in here by himself. Check entrances, exits - check all the guests that were here tonight.”

The guard nods and walks out of the room. One less gun for Sicheng to worry about.

“And as for you,” Zhang says. “You’ll stay here until I get to the bottom of this. And if you’re lucky, I might even let you live.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” Sicheng says cheerfully. “I really don’t care.”

Zhang and his three guards leave the room and the door locks behind them. As soon as they’re gone Sicheng drops his grin. He tests the ropes binding him to the chair. He’s stuck.

Sicheng lets out a sigh. His comms earpiece is gone, and so is his watch. He drops his head back and stares at that one ceiling light. He closes his eyes.

_Kun has a plan two,_ he thinks. _He always does._

_…_

“How many times am I going to have to wear a wig this week?” Ten gripes, brushing eyeshadow over his eyelids. “I had to leave one of my favorites in a trashcan last night,” he mumbles sadly.

“Don’t worry,” Kun says, as he worries. He drums his fingers on his desk, letting the incessant _tap tap tap_ wash over him.

“You sure Plan Two is gonna work?” Ten asks, looping an earring through his ear. He works fast, and is already sporting wavy red hair, green eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his nose. “It makes me uneasy.”

“I have faith,” Kun replies. He checks his watch. Dejun should have already made the arrangements for later.

“In what?” Ten asks, swiping on lip gloss. “God?”

“No,” Kun replies. “My team.”

…

_“You’ve reached Zhang Industries. How may I help you?”_

Kun leans back in his chair, phone pressed to his ear. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Zhang.”

The female voice on the other end of the line is amplified through the phone, distorted in all the right places. _“May I ask your name?”_

Kun pauses, watching the morning sun draw lines on the cheap hotel carpet. “Kun. Qian Kun.”

…

Their target building, and the site of their newest deception, is a tall office complex filled with plenty of well-dressed businessmen and women.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Yukhei says, walking up to the secretary at the front desk. “Do you drive a red Honda?”

“Yes,” she answers, confused. “Why do you ask?”

“Your lights are on,” Yukhei responds.

“Oh, dear,” she says, sliding out of her seat and walking out the door. Her car, which most definitely does not have its lights on, is parked in the parking garage down the street. They have ten minutes, max, until she gets back.

Yukhei stands by the door with his hands crossed in front of him. He looks exactly like what one would expect office security to look like - tall, well dressed, stiff. He watches as Ten steps behind the desk, flipping his fake red hair over his shoulder and adjusting the front of his suit jacket over his dress. Ten is pretending to arrange files on the desk when Zhang Yixing walks in, an air of annoyance etched in his features.

“I’m here to see Mr. Qian,” he says, fingers tapping on the desk. Ten rifles through his papers.

“He’s on the fifth floor,” Ten says, voice saccharine as strawberries. He smiles sweetly. “His office is the first on the left.”

“Thank you,” Yixing says, heading to the elevator.

Ten and Yukhei both wait until the elevator closes behind him before Ten gets out from behind the desk, the both of them heading out the door. Yukhei sees the secretary from before rush past them.

“That was close,” Ten says, readjusting his skirt.

“Tell me about it.”

…

“ _He’s coming,_ ” Ten says. _“Get ready.”_

Kun almost laughs. He’s _been_ ready, been agonizing over this moment ever since he failed to extract Sicheng from Zhang Headquarters.

Kun looks out the large glass windows, hands crossed behind his back. The city sprawls beneath him, everything so tiny on the ground below, and Kun wonders what it would be like to fall from this height.

There’s a knock on the door, soft and insistent.

“Come in.”

Zhang Yixing does not look happy. He levels Kun with a stare that could melt steel and holds his hands in front of him in a way that could be either suggestive or combative.

“How nice to see you again, Mr. Qian,” Yixing says, expression verging into that of a sneer.

“The honor is mine,” Kun replies. “Please, have a seat.” He gestures to the long conference table, and Yixing gives him a smirk as he sits on the far side of the table, directly across from Kun.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Yixing says. “You wanted to talk to me about something.”

He leans back in his chair as Kun sits at the other end of the table. It’s a leisurely display of power, calculated to make Kun sweat.

“You have a man of mine,” Kun says. “I’d like him back.”

“Oh, the rat?” Yixing says, smile as sharp as a shark’s. “The one that was messing with _my_ servers.”

“Yes.” Kun folds his hands in his lap, leveling Yixing with a stare. “Him.”

Yixing laughs, he laughs, throwing his head back before curling his lip at Kun’s neutral expression. “You’re awfully bold. I should have you arrested.”

“I’ve committed no crime,” Kun says smoothly. “It would only be a crime if he had succeeded.”

“Breaking and entering,” Yixing says, voice cold. “I knew he couldn’t have been working alone.

“Oh, but he was.” Kun smiles, letting something cold seep into his face. “You really should get better security.”

Yixing’s lip curls and he leans forward. “So that’s it? You came here to gloat about how you snuck a man past my security? How you _almost_ stole private information from me?”

“No,” Kun says, face stony. “I’d like to negotiate a merger.”

Yixing laughs again but this time the sound is harsher, almost a bark. “You? Negotiate a merger with me? With _my_ company? You’re insane.”

“If not a merger, then an alliance.” Kun folds his fingers together over the table.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Yixing says.

“I’m the CEO of one of the biggest tech companies in Korea,” Kun says. “Vision Tech is currently number one in Korean software design and production.”

“I’ve never heard of ‘Vision Tech,’” Yixing sneers.

There’s a knock at the door and Dejun comes in, holding a thick sheaf of papers. He adjusts his thick glasses.

“I said I didn’t want to be bothered,” Kun says with discontent. Dejun visibly swallows.

“I’m sorry sir, but here are the reports you wanted.” he hands the reports to Kun, who gives him a withering glare. It’s convincing, and Kun motions with a lazy hand for Dejun to leave. The door closes behind him and Kun catches Yixing frowning at the papers sitting on the table.

“I’m sorry about the interruption. What were you saying?”

“I’ve never heard of your company,” Yixing says. 

“That’s surprising. But then again, we’re fairly...new.” 

Kun slides the folder across the table. Yixing looks at it as if it might be poisonous before gingerly opening it. His eyes skim over the charts Dejun has falsified, the fake stocks, fake numbers, fake everything. Kun feels a swell of pride at Dejun’s work when Yixing frowns at him, slightly more convinced than he was before.

“You can look us up,” Kun says. “I don’t have time to discuss my business history.”

“So what is it that you really want?”

“I told you what I want,” Kun says. “A merger. We are moving into the Chinese market and you are, without a doubt, our greatest competition." 

“And you couldn’t have just, I don’t know, asked me about it?” Yixing says, voice taking on a lethal edge. “You had to send some low-grade hacker to steal information from me?”

“Think of it as a … test, of sorts. If my man had been able to get in and out of your systems I wouldn’t have bothered talking with you to negotiate anything.” Kun pauses, looking him right in the eye. “You wouldn’t have been worth my time.”

Kun watches as Yixing’s hands curl and uncurl on the table, eyes cold. Kun feels a thrill run up his spine, knows that he’s got Yixing where he wants him.

“I’ll have to think your offer over,” Yixing says, standing. He smiles but it is a genuine fraud, borne out of formality more so than feeling. Kun returns it with a grin of his own, the expression never truly reaching his eyes.

“Please do,” Kun says. “I’ll await your decision.”

Yixing pushes the door open and stalks out into the hallway. Kun follows him with his eyes until he vanishes down the elevator.

Kun exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Did you get all that?”

_“Yep,_ ” Kunhang says through the comms. _“Every word.”_

 

**2200 HOURS**

 

There is a construction site right on the edge of the city, and at night the stillness of the area eerily mimics a cemetery. Bricks and huge cement blocks lie on the ground, untouched for months and weathering under the open sky. A large fence surrounds the area, the worn black links supposedly keeping out intruders. Supposedly.

Yangyang climbs over the fence, reaching out as Yukhei flings over a large bundle. He, too, clambers over the fence, feet hitting the ground with a thud and a cloud of dust.

“This place looks awful,” Yangyang says. “What were they even building here?”

“An apartment complex,” Yukhei answers. “But funding ran out, and now there’s no one to finish the job.”

“Huh,” Yangyang says, pointing to a blank spot amidst the rubble. “How about we put these over there?”

Yukhei nods, shifting the bundle in his arms. “Looks great.”

They work quickly in the dark, the only sound the night wind and the flapping of canvas. They leave 20 minutes later under the cover of darkness, vanishing so quickly it would almost seem that no one was even there.

 

>> DAY TWO, POST MISSION

 

**1000 HOURS**

 

“I’ve thought about it,” Yixing says over the phone. “Why don’t you stop by so we can talk about it?”

Kun drums his fingers on the table. “Of course,” Kun says. “What time would be convenient?”

“Whatever time suits you,” Yixing says. There’s a bit of bite to the words, a sugar-coated acidity, and Kun narrows his eyes. “I anticipate talking to you.”

He hangs up and Kun stares at his phone. He looks at the rest of his team, each of them watching him as he stands and goes to the window.

“Let’s go,” he says, motioning to Ten and Yukhei. “We have a merger to negotiate.”

…

Yixing doesn’t seem pleased to see Kun, which is to be expected.

Kun and Yukhei walk into Zhang Headquarters together, playing the part of a rich businessman and his bodyguard. Yukhei stands no fewer than five paces behind, watching through dark sunglasses with his hands behind his back. He exudes a calm sort of menace, just like Yixing himself.

Kun is the first to speak. “Have you decided yet?”

“Yes,” Yixing says, smiling like a crocodile. “In fact, I’d like to enter into an agreement right now.”

Kun raises an eyebrow, spine straight and body still. “Oh?”

“I have a contract already drawn up by my lawyers. We can sign it now, if it suits you.”

Kun’s mind revolts against the idea, but he really has no choice. “Of course.”

Yixing motions with a finger and a man in a suit produces a thin sheet of paper. He hands it to Kun with shaking hands, shrinking away as he takes the paper from him. Kun paces as he skims over the page, the agreements, the fine print. Yixing’s eyes follow him with a kind of deadly curiosity.

Kun stops. There it is, right in the fine print - the words Kun has been looking for. He reads the statement over and over again, just to be sure, and suppresses a grin.

“This looks satisfactory,” Kun says, pulling a pen out of his suit jacket. He signs on the dotted line and watches as Yixing does the same. “I still want my man back."

“Of course.” Yixing’s smile is all teeth and no feeling.

Chess pieces. Everything is chess pieces, and a strategy that falls into place.

 

**1200 HOURS**

 

“There’s someone following us,” Ten says, eyes glued to the road. Kun and Yukhei had left Zhang Headquarters as soon as possible, but it would seem it wasn’t soon enough.

“Is it Yixing?”

“No, but it must be one of his men.” Ten puts his hand out. “Give me your suit jacket.”

Kun shrugs his jacket off and watches as Ten pulls it over his shoulders. Yukhei stops the car and Ten steps out, his back to the car behind them, and starts walking. If one was watching carefully they would have surely noticed that Kun was not the one on the street, but the following car follows Ten instead of Kun and Yukhei.

 

Yukhei and Kun watch Ten vanish down the street, black car following him like a hearse. They head off in the opposite direction.

 

…

 

Ten adjusts Kun’s jacket, the trailing figure of a slick black car prominent in his peripheral vision.

 

Ten takes a left, ducking to the side of a building, and sees two men exit the car - both tall and heavily muscled. Hired guards, then. Ten continues to walk, the streets narrowing until he’s reached an alley. Walls on all sides, a high fence at the very end of the alley. Ten looks up at the fire escape ladders dotting the brick walls, the black metal reflecting the sun. No way out, only up.

Ten turns and sees the two men that were following him stop, eyes narrowing. He doesn’t exactly look like Kun - he’s shorter, thinner, and his hair is darker. The men seem to notice that they’ve made a mistake, but make no move to leave.

“I’m not the person you expected, am I?” Ten sighs, adjusting his jacket. “Sorry about that. I’m sure, however, that my boss will love to hear he was being followed.”

That spurs the men into action. One lunges at Ten, obviously former military, and Ten dodges him, stepping onto his back to propel himself forwards and up. He grabs the bottom rung of a fire ladder and twists, his feet landing on a higher rung. He looks at the men, poised upside down like a spider.

“Shouldn’t have done that, boys,” Ten says chidingly. The one pulls out a gun and Ten allows himself just to feel a little bit annoyed. They never learn, do they?

Ten spins off the ladder and laughs. He loves his job.

…

Ten slides next to Kun in the backseat of their car, not a hair out of place on his head. He pulls off his jacket and hands it back to Kun, cheeks flushed.

“You were right,” Ten says. “Zhang sent them to put you out of business. Permanently.”

Kun hums, “Good. It means we’re getting through to him.”

Ten side-eyes him, frowning slightly.

“You know what comes next,” Yukhei says from the front seat.

“I do,” Kun says, taking a deep breath. “I do.”

…

“He’s taken the bait,” Kunhang tells Kun, Dejun sitting beside him. “He’s looked you up.”

“Great!” Yangyang says. “Now he knows you're the real deal.”

“Can I see?” Kun says. Kunhang holds him a tablet, _Qian Kun_ typed into the search bar. Kun swipes through the results, hundreds of them, all about the CEO of a tech company that doesn’t exist. There’s photos and newspaper articles, youtube videos, even gossip pages whispering about a supposed scandal. Each feature Kun’s face, sometimes in a crowd and sometimes in front of a glossy building.

Dejun is quiet, but Kun knows his work takes the brunt of their deception. It took him two days to amass these photos, each staged and carefully edited to look like the real deal. The videos, the newspaper articles, even the fake logo of Vision Tech - they are all his work.

The fake matter fleshes out their fictional Qian Kun, but the most important article is highlighted at the top of the page. It’s a story about the new Beijing location for Vision Tech, which is currently under construction right on the fringes of the city. The photo is of an abandoned construction site, but only Kun and his team could possibly know that.

“This is good,” Kun murmurs to himself, reading through the article. “Very good.”

“The pictures and videos and stuff were the most time consuming to put together,” Dejun says. “Once Kunhang had them, it only took him about an hour to sprinkle them across the internet.”

“It’s one of my favorite tricks,” Kunhang says. “Once, I convinced my friend that the first person to land on the moon was a guy named Dick Piston by making a bunch of fake webpages. His search history was _awful._ ”

“Good job guys,” Kun says.

The friendly chatter lulls into nothingness, night falling like a stone outside the window

 

>> DAY THREE, POST MISSION

 

**1300 HOURS**

 

Sicheng watches the light. It’s the only thing _to_ watch, unless Sicheng can content himself with counting the splotches in the concrete walls.

They let him out to use the bathroom, always accompanied by someone with a gun, and if he asks really nicely a guard gives him some water so he doesn’t die of thirst. They tie him back to the chair every time, and Sicheng has to be careful to angle his wrists to retain blood flow to his fingers.

He works on the ropes binding him to the chair, attempting to fray them against the wood. Restlessness settles under his skin as he watches the light, his only source of _anything_ in the enclosed space. Surely Kun and the rest are coming for him, surely they are. They wouldn’t leave him here.

There’s a creak as the door opens, the guards from before entering with crooked smiles. The one has a wicked look in his eye, one that speaks of future violence.

The light flickers once. Flickers twice. Sicheng looks up, ignoring them.

“Hey, rat, the guard sneers. “Guess what? We get to get _rid_ of you.”

“That’s nice,” Sicheng says, watching the light flicker. “Give me a minute, won’t you?”

His mind works fast, circling through the possibilities like a Ferris wheel. This means that either Kun’s negotiations have failed, or that something is wrong. Or, he thinks, maybe there’s something else he had to take into consideration. The lights continue to flicker, painting the room dark and bright and dark again.

The other guard pipes up. “Hey, what part of getting rid of you don’t you understand? We’re gonna _kill_ you.”

“Okay,” Sicheng says. He counts the flickers: one slow, one longer. It’s a message that only he can understand, and Sicheng can feel something alleviate in his chest.

The guard huffs in annoyance, grabbing the front of Sicheng’s shirt.

“We’ll take our time with you,” he growls. “We’ll kill you _slowly._ ”

The light stops flickering. Sicheng looks the guard straight in the eyes and drops his smile. He’s received Kunhang’s message and now the act is over: here comes the real fun.

“Funny you should say that,” Sicheng says, voice flat. “That’s what I was planning to do with you.”

The guard frowns and the single light goes out, plunging the room into darkness.

…

Five minutes later a man emerges from the room. He’s wearing a guard uniform and carrying a gun, but upon closer inspection, he seems too small for both of these things. The uniform is baggy in all the wrong places, the cap on his head sliding low over his eyes. He looks up at the camera, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Sicheng pulls his hat low over his eyes and closes the door behind him.

…

“I signaled Sicheng,” Kunhang says. “He’s out.”

“Good.”

 

**1700 HOURS**

 

“I’d like to talk to you,” Yixing says. “About our contract?”

Dejun watches with wide eyes as Kun readjusts his phone in his hand. “Of course,” he says. “But I’m not at my office at the moment.”

“That’s no problem,” Yixing replies, voice neutral. “I’ll be glad to meet you at your current location.”

“Well,” Kun says, glancing over at Dejun. “I’m at the construction site on the edge of the city, where our new building is being constructed. Do you know it?”

“Yes. I’ll see you there.”

The phone clicks and the conversation is over.

Chess pieces. Checkmate.

…

When Kun was younger, his parents always told him he was a terrible liar.

It was true - he _was_ a terrible liar. His mom would look at him with expectant eyes, standing over a fallen vase or spilled glass of milk, and Kun would have no choice but to reveal the truth. It had been a force, a compulsion: Kun was honest, unbearably so.

It had not been a habit he had grown out of, more a trait he had suppressed. In other words, Kun became a liar. But he didn’t become a good liar. No, he became the best.

A truth and a lie are not so different - they verge on being the same thing. The only difference between a truth and a lie is the delivery: do you believe what you say? Does the person you tell it to believe it?

Kun is a great liar, but he doesn’t tell lies. Just truths, a little off center.

That’s his secret: he tells nothing but the truth.

…

Kun agrees to meet with Zhang Yixing at the construction site of his supposed new building. Everything is set - Yangyang and Yukhei have set up signs around the perimeter with Vision Tech’s falsified logo, some of the signs containing a smiling woman at a computer. It speaks of corporate tech banality, practically screams it, and Kun is incredibly satisfied with their work.

“You’re here,” Kun says, standing with his hands behind his back. He doesn’t look at Yixing, not at first. He’s standing at the top of the building’s concrete skeleton, the ground ten feet below him.

“You can’t have your man back,” Yixing says with a dangerous purr in his voice. “I’ve chosen to get rid of him.”

“That wasn’t part of the agreement.”

“Oh, but this was?” Yixing says, holding up a black flash drive. “I know what you were trying to get at, and I don’t appreciate it.”

Kun doesn’t move.

“You want it so bad?” Yixing says, mocking. He throws the flash drive to Kun, who deftly picks it out of the air. “Then take it. You won’t have it for very long.”

A second passes, stretching out into an eternity as Yixing pulls a gun out of his suit jacket.

“I don’t like you, Qian Kun,” Zhang spits. He points the gun at Kun, who can only stare at him with his mouth open and eyes wide. “You really thought you were slick, negotiating that merger? You should have read the fine print of the contract,” Yixing says, laughing. “If you die, I’m in charge. Real smart move, Kun.”

“So you’ll kill me for my company?” Kun says, mouth dry. He’s going to die for his non-existent company, for this mission. The ground is so far below him, the white cement of the unfinished building looking like shifting sand on a beach. He takes a step backward, but there isn’t much room. He thinks of his team, and wonders if he could have done things differently.

“ _Our_ company,” Yixing says, smirking. “It’s our company now. Well, actually, it’s mine.”

“You’ll go to jail for this,” Kun says, voice wavering. “The police will catch you.”

“The police have never caught me before,” Yixing says. “I’ve done my fair share of dirty business. You’re just another in a long line of conquests.”

“So you admit to the information you’ve been hiding. Illegal surveillance on your own government, Yixing? That’s treason.” His voice is lost in the wind.

“Treason has its price,” Yixing says. “I just sell the information to whoever pays the most.”

“You’re a traitor, in more ways than one,” Kun says, shivering in the nonexistent cold. Yixing points the gun at his chest, and there’s a click as he pulls back the trigger.

“I guess I am,” he says, smiling like Kun imagines the devil would.

“Please,” Kun says, pleading. He can feel his heart hammering against his chest, throat tight. The skin on his palms itches, fingers wrapped so tightly around Sicheng’s flash drive he’s afraid he’ll crush it. “Listen, you can have the company, please, just don’t-”

“It’s too late for that,” Yixing says, laughing.

There is a brief moment for Kun to contemplate his next move but he is running out of time. Everything about this mission has been about time, timing, but now his is almost up. He takes a step backward and looks at the ground, so far below him. He looks back at Yixing.

Yixing shoots Kun right in the chest, the gunshot echoing across the construction site. It’s so loud in the evening silence, cracking through the sky and echoing off the concrete. Kun stumbles back, blood blooming on his shirt, and his foot slips over the edge of the roof. His arms flail but there is nothing to grab onto. There is just the air and the evening sky; pink, orange and purple above him.

There’s weightlessness as he pitches over the edge, and Kun barely registers the fact that he is falling. He closes his eyes and waits for the ground to hit him and, inevitably, kill him.

There’s a scream from above him and the Kun hits the ground with a thud. But it’s not the ground, not really: Yukhei lifts him off a ballooning air cushion and onto a stretcher.

“Don’t worry boss,” Yangyang says, grinning. “We’ve got you.” He’s wearing a paramedic uniform in a way that would definitely go against code if he was an actual medical professional.

Kun looks up and sees Ten, dressed as a secretary and screaming his head off. Police are already swarming the area and Yixing has no choice but to put his hands up in surrender.

“He killed him!” Ten wails, hands over his mouth. “Oh my god, he _killed_ him!”

A police officer removes a sobbing Ten from the building and that's the last thing Kun sees before Yangyang and Yukhei lift him into the back of a medical van. Of course, it’s not a real medical van - just the Purple Party Bus with a fresh coat of paint.

“Damn,” Kun groans.”My chest hurts.”

“Well, you did just get shot,” Kunhang says from the front seat. Dejun sits next to him, watching the police cars that pull in. Sicheng grabs the end of the stretcher and pulls Kun inside. He smiles softly, eyes calm.

Kun sits up, rubbing his chest. He pulls off his suit jacket and shirt and then the bulletproof vest wrapped around his body. Yixing’s bullet is embedded in the thick Kevlar, and fake blood runs down the fabric. Kun wipes his forehead and leaves streaks of red along his skin.

And lastly, he pulls out a small recording device and Sicheng’s black flash drive.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” Yangyang says cheerfully.

“Oh shut up,” Kun says. “I’ve been shot more than you have and it was _still_ awful.”

“He’s gonna tell war stories again,” Kunhang grumbles. “Make him shut up.”

“Hey-”

The back door of the van opens and Ten climbs in. He whips off his wig and plants a friendly kiss on Kun’s bloody forehead.

“You’re such a dumbass,” he says, pulling off his heels. Kunhang sets the van in motion and they breeze off down the street. Kun looks out the window and he can see the receding figure of Zhang Yixing being pushed into a police car. He allows himself to feel a small sense of relief that it is finally over - that it is finally over and they won. It was not exactly an in-and-out operation, but nothing ever is.

Ten continues. “I can’t _believe_ you thought “‘hey, how about I get someone to shoot me and then fall ten stories to the ground?’ God, you’re stupid.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“You’re a lucky bitch,” Ten says, smiling as he shakes his head.

“Or is he?” Kunhang asks, merging into oncoming traffic with the reckless abandonment of someone who can’t drive. Dejun smacks the back of his head.

“Hey!”

…

Kun turns Sicheng’s flash drive over and over in his hands. The art museum is busier in the afternoons but the crowd is starting to wind down, along with the fading sunlight. Kun goes to the woman at the desk. She is the same as always, with her immaculate hair and blank face.

He slips Sicheng’s flash drive, along with the confession recording, into the envelope in his hands and smiles cordially as he walks up to her.

“I’ve brought my membership payment,” Kun says. “Thank you for everything.”

She tips her head respectfully as the envelope exchanges hands. “Thank you, sir.” It vanishes beneath the desk and Kun knows it will find its way to the hands it was intended to be in. He gives one last glance to the brilliant sunrise as he heads outside.

Kun is sure he’ll be back soon, but right now his team is waiting for him.

And there is one last thing for them to do.

…

Yixing hasn’t been charged with treason. Yet.

He’s on house arrest for attempted murder, which is practically a vacation. What can they do to him, anyway? He’s a billionaire, a CEO, a public figure. They can’t get rid of him that easily.

Yixing wakes up in the middle of the night to a strange sound, like a whoosh of air being let out of a balloon. He sits up and sees that the window is open, his curtains fluttering in the breeze. He makes an annoyed noise and stands up, pulling the window shut with a thud. He locks it.

He’s turning to go back to bed when a ray of moonlight falls on a familiar face, one that Yixing thought he’d never see again.

“Hello, associate,” Kun says, voice reverberating around the room. “How nice to see you again.”

Yixing stumbles back, hand fumbling in the dark. He attempts to switch on his bedside lamp but it won’t turn on. Sicheng had unscrewed the lightbulb earlier.

“You can’t be alive, Yixing whispers in terror. “You _can't_ be. I shot you and watched you fall off a ten story building!”

“You know what they say about ghosts,” Kun says. “We always come back.”

Yixing lets out a whimper and grabs a book off the table, brandishing it like a weapon. “I killed you.”

Lights flicker and laughter fills the room, Kunhang and Yangyang’s voices melding together. Kun watches Yixing cower back in fear, then steps forward.

“Confess to your crimes,” Kun says.

“I would never,” Yixing sneers.

“Confess,” Ten whispers through the hidden speakers beneath Yixing’s bed. He whips around, eyes wild, at the sound.

“Who are you?” His face is as white as a sheet.

“You know who we are.”

The lights go out and everything goes silent. A moment passes, the lights flooding back into the room, and Kun is gone.

“Who?” Yixing says, spinning wildly and shouting into the empty room. “ _Who?”_

_You know who we are_ , Kun thinks. _A team. And we’ll be back, Zhang Yixing, if you aren’t careful._

Kun smiles in the dark. _We’ll be back._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [your mission: impossible](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Yu5n3HeayPEqvniHAo7Pw)   
>  [twt](https://twitter.com/nastaeyong)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.me/nastaeyong)


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